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Oh, thou, my Fathers’ brightest Land!

Your voices and your bells all ringing!

Whatever heights I might ascend,

Your Saints are still above me singing!


And celebration then occurs:

Among your wheat, among your leafing

I always hear your mighty chorus,

Hear your polyphony.


How calm and tranquil are your woods!

How black and wet are forest rivers!

And how majestic are the domes

That have been built ‘bove you forever!


And celebration then occurs:

Among your wheat, among your leafing

I always hear your mighty chorus,

Hear your polyphony.


I’m a crossroads of many days.

In dewy meadows I hear

Both voices of my dear friends

And of your skies, from there and here.


And celebration then occurs:

Among your wheat, among your leafing

I always hear your mighty chorus,

Hear your polyphony.


Хто вгадав автора - тому можна сюди.